


hallelujah

by orphan_account



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thirty hanchul moments, not necessarily connected</p>
            </blockquote>





	hallelujah

1\. _if I can make it here I can make it anywhere_

 _I can’t do it_ Heechul says, and Hankyung doesn’t know how to teach him, because Hankyung doesn’t work hard at it, really. He has been dancing for as long as he can remember, for as long as he realized it made him happy, the precision and the way he can be liquid grace, music through movement and poetry in motion. His voice is mediocre at best, he thinks, but he is good at dancing, he knows he is.

The hip hop dancing is different from what he truly loves, but he likes it, likes the way his body snaps and pops and twists to each thump of the bass and scratch from the dj, the hard stops and quick flicks rather than sweeping arms and pistoning legs and tip toe flutters.

 _I can’t do it_ Heechul says and Hankyung can’t explain it or teach it so he dances it, eyes closed because he doesn’t need sight he has an open dance floor and muscle memory and the music that seeps into his skin and fills him with the rhythm and the melody and whispers to his soul. And Heechul sits on scuffed shiny hardwood and watches, closes his eyes to listen to the squeak of rubber soles and the swish of clothing, the way Hankyung’s breathing fits into the music and how he can see Hankyung spinning on his eyelids, bangs in his eyes and body dipping.

 

2\. _siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom_

 

Hankyung isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he opens his eyes to soft bright light, saturating the sky and bleeding the colours into each other, fuzzy lines against the sharp focus of Heechul’s eyes, gentle and easy, and he knows it to be a dream. 

There is soft grass under him, and Heechul’s hair is blowing in the wind, red swirling in the breeze like cherry blossom candles drifting on water. There’s a smile in his eyes, and Hankyung pulls him down, rolls around in tall grass and flowers like a scene from a cheap romance film, kisses him until he falls apart in his arms, sliding apart at the seams and wisping away.

 

3\. _what the thunder said_

Heechul is very drunk. He knows it because he is looking at Hankyung and seeing eternities in his eyes, stretching out and curving around each other in a never-ending spiral, and he only thinks this shit up when he’s very very drunk. _you are my agony in stony place_ s he slurs, and Hankyung turns to face him, flushed from alcohol and hot to the touch. He is so drunk he’s crying, tiny tears that run down his cheeks and drip off his jawbone, crying like a movie star, and Heechul reaches out to touch one before it falls, breaking the tension with his nail and feeling wet across his cuticle.

Hankyung laughs at him, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, droplets slung off his fingers that glitter like prisms, and Heechul wants him to be perfect, wants him to slide his fingers through Heechul’s hair and say the red of it is like torchlight in the silence of frosty gardens. Hankyung leans on his shoulder, stumbling, and murmurs something about schedules, alcohol staining the air, and it’s not perfect but it is Hankyung and Heechul wonders if this is the best it will ever be. _are you my prison_ he asks and Hankyung pushes him to the bed and says something in a dialect of Chinese that is swishy and swirly and foggy and Heechul falls asleep wrapped in soju and warm and Hankyung. _my prison, my palace, my reverberation_. 

Heechul thinks it to be enough.

 

4\. _nal ulgo utge hajyo no no no_

Heechul rolls his shoulders and flicks his wrists and jerks and spins and his hat falls off. He scoops it off the ground, growling, and goes back to dancing, counting in a murmur under his breath, over and over again, long hair sticking to his face with sweat. Hankyung is still hovering in the doorway, awkward, when Heechul stumbles, tumbling to the studio floorboards. Hankyung likes the way his body looks on the ground, breathing hard and eyes closed, a flush in his cheeks and teeth sunk into his lips.

Heechul performs on the stage with backup dancers and an audience screaming his name and Hankyung closes his eyes to see Heechul was in sweats, stumbling and cursing, picking himself up to fall again.

 

5\. _no makeup on that’s when you’re the prettiest I hope you don’t take it wrong_

 

The clacking of the keyboard wakes Hankyung, and he stirs around, rolling in the comforter and listening to Heechul mutter and grumble, before cracking his eyes open against the harsh glow of the desk-lamp. Heechul is sitting at the desk, back hunched and hair tumbling around his face, Hankyung’s shirt falling off his shoulder. 

Hankyung rolls off the bed, naked and shivering faintly against the chill, slides behind him, drapes his arms around his shoulders and leans his head on Heechul’s shoulder, yawning and closing his eyes. Heechul hums, hair tickling Hankyung’s neck and continues tapping away. Hankyung turns his head and kisses Heechul’s neck, biting softly to make him shiver. Heechul leans his head on Hankyung for a few seconds, and then closes the light, shuts his computer.

He murmurs something, tired, and Hankyung pulls him back to the bed, burrowing back under the blankets quickly and snuffling into his pillow. Heechul lags behind, and Hankyung whines through his nose, but then Heechul slips close, shirt gone and Hankyung chuffs happily, curling into bare skin. 

Heechul shoves his feet under Hankyung’s calves and grumbles about codependence and insomnia, but his head is buried into Hankyung’s neck and his arms wrap around Hankyung’s back and he sleeps.

 

6\. _turn around, let me lick you down from your neck to your navel_

Hankyung almost likes it best after the sex, because Heechul is so languid against him, breathing evening out as he wiggles closer, eyes half lidded and lazy smile from swollen lips. Heechul hates it when Hankyung leaves a visible mark on him, but he almost always sucks bruises into Hankyung’s neck, soft licks and low hums, cock twitching for round two.

 

7\. _you’ve got me downhearted, cos I can’t get started with you_

Hankyung never wakes first, he cracks his eyes open to cold sheets and wide open spaces. Heechul is usually at the desk, brow furrowed and squinting in dim light. Hankyung takes a moment to admire Heechul in Hankyung’s own shirt, enjoying the possessive glow it inspires in him. He pulls on pajama pants and wanders over to the desk, dragging his fingertips across the crinkles in Heechul’s forehead and laughing as Heechul bats at him, irritated. 

He drops Heechul’s glasses on his face, and Heechul shakes them into place, not even sparing Hankyung a single glance. “Love you babe,” he says absently, and Hankyung rolls his eyes before padding out to the kitchen.

 

8\. _all I really want is to be with you, feeling like I never do_

“Do you have to touch him like that,” Heechul says, and there are edges in his consonants and poison in his vowels. Hankyung pauses, startled.

“What do you mean?” he asks, but he walks quickly to his room and shuts the door. He knows what Heechul means.

“You know what I mean,” Heechul hisses.

“What about you?” Hankyung demands, “I don’t want to see you touch Mithra or Yunho or Hongki or fucking Jang Gue—”

“That’s nothing,” Heechul says, and his voice is raised now, furiously angry, “don’t try and change the subject, this—”

“This is the same subject,” Hankyung says, and now he’s shouting, “you do exactly the same—for fuck’s sake, you do it with the same person, don’t try and be the martyr, if anyone should be angry it should be—”

“What have you to be angry about?” And Heechul is nearly screaming now, Hankyung can hear his breath heave and his knuckles going white through the rough connection, “fuck you, hear me, fuck you and—”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Hankyung snarls back, “you, you stupid, you hear _me_ , your stupid jealousy and your hypocrisy, you can just go to—”

“I miss you,” Heechul says softly, tiredly. “I love you.”

“Go to sleep,” says Hankyung, suddenly bone-achingly exhausted, the wind gone from his sails in an instant. “just—go to sleep.”

 

9\. _I just want to be there, when you’re caught in the rain_

Hankyung drags Heechul out from the sheltered overhangs and into the street, laughing as Heechul shrieks from the cold and the wet and the mud, dirt roads turning soft to suck and slurp at his shoes and stain his jeans.

“I hate China,” Heechul declares, and Hankyung pouts at him, tugs at his scarf until Heechul chokes and hisses at him, uses it to pull Heechul close. Heechul laughs, seemingly despite himself. “You’re so stupid,” he says, and it’s sugary with affection. Hankyung pulls the chopsticks Heechul had spent an hour learning how to arrange out of his hair, watches it tumble down around his face and start to curl from the damp.

“You’re a jerk,” Heechul says, grabbing at the wooden sticks, and Hankyung sticks them down his pants, leering. Heechul’s eyes change and he laughs again, lower, steps up on the curb so he can lean down and kiss Hankyung, going on his tiptoes to let his hair shield their faces from the rain.

 

10\. _why’d you sing hallelujah if it means nothing to you_

 

Hankyung hears about it in texts from the others before he sees it, before he goes online and finds the fancams and the pictures and the blogs. He’d hoped it to be exaggeration, hoped maybe a hitching of break or a crack in his voice but Heechul’s thin chest heaves once, twice, his hand comes to cover his face, he doesn’t sing into the microphone, and Hankyung resists the urge to throw his computer across the room.

Heechul’s cell goes straight to voicemail and Hankyung has to talk to Eeteuk on the phone for a long time, soft questions and broken attempts at explaining before Eeteuk leaves to get Heechul on the phone. Heechul sounds tired and rough and drained, and he murmurs quietly about nothing. Hankyung can hear the clink of keys on tile as Heechul fidgets, awkward.

They have never been awkward, not ever, and Hankyung feels himself grasping at straws and having them slip through his fingers.

“Do you know what it means?” he blurts finally, “the first one, do you know what it means?” There’s a silence as Heechul considers denying understanding the question.

“Siwon told me,” he says finally. “But, Hankyung, honestly I don’t want to talk about this, I-”

“It’s hope,” Hankyung blunders on, “it’s hope, all I ask, all I want, Heechul please.”

“I can try,” Heechul says, “I will try,” and Hankyung doesn’t know , Hankyung can’t tell, if he’s lying so he closes his eyes and imagines Heechul smiling into the phone, cord around his fingers and hope in his heart.

 

11\. _but baby it’s cold outside_

Hankyung comes in from the garage, shaking his hair out and pulling off his boots, shoving the dogs off of him and muttering.

“Heechul?” he calls, puzzled. Heechul isn’t in the living room, the office, the kitchen. He pads into the bedroom, shucking his jacket and his gloves, flexing his fingers. The lump on the bed stirs, and Heechul’s nose pokes out, eyes like slits under the pillow and the blankets.

“Shut the door,” he says, “it’s freezing in here.” His teeth are clacking and he’s shivering violently, and Hankyung frowns, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching over to feel Heechul’s forehead.

“Where are the damn dogs?” Heechul grumbles, eyes bright, “they were keeping me warm.” Hankyung hums absently in his throat and slides his fingers through Heechul’s hair.

“More medicine in half an hour,” he murmurs thoughtfully, “and then if no change, the doctor tomorrow.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Heechul says weakly. “Just stay away from me, I don’t want you catching it.”

“Mmm,” Hankyung says, and wiggles out of his pants and sweatshirt, slipping under the covers, “I already called in sick to work, now come here.” Heechul relaxes into him, burrowing and grumbling, and dozes, shivering and sweating and burning against Hankyung’s skin. He’s always more snuggly when feeling off, and Hankyung starts to feel worried as Heechul clings desperately.

“Shut up,” Heechul slurs drowsily, “thinking s’loud. Ssshh, I love you baby, don’t…” he trails off, mumbling, trembling, and Hankyung thinks if there’s no change in a few hours he’ll at least call in to the nurse on duty.

 

12\. _keep the faith, baby, we broke the rules and we won_

 

“We should get married,” Hankyung blurts out, and the stylist gapes at him, hand at her heart and eyes sliding sideways look in horror at Heechul behind Hankyung.  
“No!” Hankyung says, horrified, “not _you_ of course, I meant—not that I wouldn’t want to marry you, well, I really don’t, actually. But like, someone else! They would be so lucky as to—Heechul?” He turns desperately around, begging for help, and Heechul rolls his eyes.

“You’re very pretty,” he says drily, “now get out.” The girl scurries from the room, still looking faintly traumatized, and Hankyung thumps his forehead down onto the counter, rattling the makeup and the hairspray. Heechul’s fingers trail around his neck, through the ends of his hair and brush the top of his spine.

“Don’t cry,” Heechul says mockingly, “you’re also very pretty. Like a little princess. A pretty pink fairy princess. Of fail.”

“Die in a fire,” Hankyung says calmly, “I’ve changed my mind, I want to marry Siwon.”

“And you have my blessings,” says Heechul, hand tightening on the back of Hankyung’s neck, “I’ll even make a toast at your joint funeral.”

Hankyung laughs, straightening up to pull Heechul into his lap, “Is that the punishment for leaving you?” Heechul opens his mouth but his reply is lost in Hankyung’s tongue, one hand running through Hankyung’s hair, hard and brittle from dye and product, the other touching the lump in his pocket, matching silver bands.

 

13\. _I’m lost in an adorable illusion_

“Hankyung!” Heechul says cheerfully, “come watch with me.” And so Hankyung slides onto the couch, yawning and popping his shoulders, slumps onto the armrest and stares blankly at the television. It’s some crappy movie that he hates but Heechul loves, and Hankyung finds himself staring at Heechul rather than the screen. There’s a particularly gory death scene, Hankyung can hear the screaming and just see the garishly fake red splatter in his peripheral vision, and Heechul grins, pulling faces as the torture noises continue.

“Yah, Hankyung,” he says, “slide over.” Hankyung turns on his side so he’s lying on the couch with his head in Heechul’s lap, and grins cheekily up at him. Heechul flicks him in the forehead and twists about so he’s lying curved around Hankyung, his head on Hankyung’s hip.

He glues his eyes back on the screen as there is a loud explosion and scattered gunfire, and Hankyung closes his eyes, turns his face into Heechul’s thigh and twines strands of Heechul’s hair through his fingers, feels Heechul’s body shake with giggles as the movie gets progressively stupider.

 

14\. _how many rounds ‘til you can’t stand up_

“Hey, you,” Heechul says, “yeah, you.” The boy turns, quiet, eyes down. He’s new, only his first week there, and Heechul has seen him around, in voice and in dance, and he likes his accent, the way he moves. And he likes that he’s quiet. “Come _on_

He drags him into his room, kicks his dorm mates out and smiles. The boy hovers, awkward, by the door until Heechul pushes him down onto the bed. “Here,” he says, digging under the bed, “aha! Here, uh, Hankyung.”

“Heechul,” Hankyung says hesitantly, and Heechul beams, pressing a beer in his hand and flopping next to him. Hankyung sips at his drink, fidgeting nervously, and Heechul sighs.

“Relax,” he says, and pushes Hankyung back to lie against the wall, pats his hip. After half a beer, the tension finally leaves Hankyung’s muscles and he stretches a little, spreads out on the bedspread.

“So,” he starts, and Heechul drops a hand on his face.

“Ssshh,” he murmurs, eyes half closed, “finish your beer. Same time tomorrow.”

 

15\. _you can be my teacher, I’ll do homework, assign me extra credit and I’ll do more work_

It’s Hankyung’s day off, and he sleeps in, lying in bed for a long time before his bladder demands attention. After the bathroom he wanders into the living room where he can hear the television and the clatter of strong nails on a keyboard. Then he stops dead.

“What,” he says, gaping, “what is that.” Heechul looks up, glaring.

“What?” he asks dangerously, “Is there something wrong?” Hankyung chokes, giggles, and then slumps onto the ottoman, cackling.

“Shut up,” Heechul says, throwing a pillow at him, “the other ones, I can’t find them, shut _up_.” he pulls his glasses off and throws them on the end table, scowling. Hankyung takes a deep breath and scoops them up, sliding over on the couch. They’re heavy, huge round frames and chunky lenses and they dwarf Heechul’s face, slide down his nose and protrude to the sides.

“You look nice,” Hankyung manages, and then he’s off again, bent nearly double with laughter. Heechul flops on him, elbows everywhere in revenge, and sighs, lips twitching involuntarily.

“There’s lunch in the fridge,” he murmurs, fingers sliding under Hankyung’s shirt and drifting down to his jeans.

“Not hungry,” Hankyung mutters, and twists until he’s under Heechul, kissing and laughing and pulling his hair playfully. His fingers are just working the zip on Heechul’s pants when suddenly Heechul pulls away, making a triumphant noise.

“Found them!” he says happily, holding up a designer pair of skinny black frames. He sits up on Hankyung’s chest, sliding them on and grinning down at Hankyung. Hankyung reaches for his pants again, but Heechul’s bats his hands away and moves to get up.

“Now I can really see,” he says cheerfully, “the prescription on the other ones was so old.” Hankyung slumps into the couch, pouting.

“You can leave them on…” he suggests lowly, and slides closer, dips his head to suck on Heechul’s neck, lick his ear.

“Can’t type with you leaning on me like that, babe,” Heechul says absently, and Hankyung sighs again, rolls off and goes to the kitchen, resigned to tuna salad.


End file.
